Artesian Crises
by Carter Bishop
Summary: 'For a baby that slept remarkable well at night, he had the travel disposition of a baby mandrake. "That's right, I called you a mandrake," she muttered under her breath.' Circumstances force Happy to introduce his secret little family to his surrogate family, while an unknown blood relation makes itself known in the most inconvenient of ways. Happy/OC. Rating may change.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello again! This is a teaser of my most recent venture. I don't wish to pester but reviews are crucial at this point as I am writing blind right now - I truly don't know what direction this one is going so please! Suggestions, criticism, comments - all welcome! **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sons of Anarchy, Happy or anything that you recognise from the franchise. That is all Kurt Sutter. I _do,_ however, own Sage and Noah and basically anything that isn't familiar. This disclaimer applies to the entire story.**

**Without further ado, please enjoy!**

Chapter 1

Happy Lowman posed a formidable figure as he leaned against his Harley, tattooed arms folded against his broad chest and dark sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose. Despite how relaxed he was feeling, he knew that to members of the general public, he looked positively threatening. The idea brought a smirk to his face. There was nothing wrong with people staying out of his way. In fact, he preferred it.

The beach was an odd place to find him. He was more than aware of that as surfers and holidaymakers alike stared at him on their way to the stairs that lead down the headland and to the sand. Albeit looking so out of place, he couldn't deny the freedom he felt when perched at the lookout. It was one of the few places from his childhood that he recalled with even a modicum of some emotion resembling happiness.

It had been his father that brought him there – the one blight on an otherwise unmarred location. He had been into some bad shit but his father had an unbridled passion for the ocean. Freedom, he called it.

It had seemed that the same passion was inherited in the son through his love of the open road, his own form of a perfect love – his own form of freedom that became even more precious after experiencing what it was like to lose it.

His various stints in numerous state penitentiaries may not have corrected his behavior and taught him to live as a law abiding citizen, however, they did teach him how imperative it was to never be careless enough to be caught again. He couldn't stand to go stir crazy in a cage with no access to the open road all because he wasn't careful enough. He was experienced enough that it shouldn't be a problem. All he really needed to worry about was other people's stupidity, he rationalized.

He pulled in a deep breath through his nose, relishing in the salt stained air, as he pushed himself away from the machine and lazily strolled to the safety railing. The headland looked out over two beaches, both to the left hand side and separated by shrub covered sand dunes. The closer of the two was less protected and catered for larger swell, making it less desirable to the tourists and a hit with the local surf culture.

Looking at the cheap watch on his wrist, Happy decided he had time for a closer look. He knew he didn't look like a surf fanatic – truthfully, he really wasn't – but he could appreciate a good board and a smooth barrel like any local. He also knew that if any of his brothers found out, he would never hear the end of it.

On the other hand, as club enforcer and just a scary looking fucker in general, he knew he could make them stop if he wanted to. Most weren't brave enough to find out what would happen if they ignored the look he would give them.

The military issue boots he had picked up through less than legal mean stomped down the weather beaten wooden steps that lead to the middle of the bay. Yet another reason only the locals used this beach, it took growing up in the area to have a practiced ease on the stairs – all bloody 500 of them. Tourists just didn't have the disposition for them, cashed up and as gluttonous as sin.

He immediately felt the change of medium as his boots hit the sand. Rather than strut straight out among the meager milling of natives he kept to the rockery of the steep incline behind him. Fern frons and sea grasses stuck out at odd angles from the sandstone and he didn't mind pushing them back as he slowly made his way deeper into the bay. He found a medium sized boulder and pushed him self up with a practiced ease. He sat atop the stone and tucked his legs up, feet resting on a slight outcrop and elbows on his knees. He clasped his hands together and rested his chin atop them.

It wasn't the brilliantly sunny day that would constitute a normal persons idea of perfect but the clouds marring the sky did nothing to lessen his mood, in fact, they only reinforced his sense of calm.

He had been sitting there for no more than fifteen minutes, alternating between watching the local surfers and staring sightlessly at the rough water when his vision was interrupted. A surfer with a surfboard tucked under their wetsuit swathed arm was jogging out of the surf directly in front of him.

They walked halfway to his position before digging the nose of the surfboard into the loose sand. They pulled their hands away slightly and, pleased that it remained upright, bent down behind it. His curiosity was peaked now as he watched the space where the surfer had disappeared. He watched two hands peak out to wrap the leg rope around the fins at the top.

Happy lifted his chin from his fists and crossed them lazily over his knees, his interest still absorbed by the enigma behind the board. He had watched them briefly out on the water. Full of natural talent and practiced moves, they had to be a resident of the area.

Finally, a petite body stepped from behind the board. With the wetsuit pulled down to hip height and a pale blue bikini top visible, it was safe to say the enigma was female. He couldn't help but appreciate from afar. Tiny little thing, couldn't much over five foot, hardly any hips to speak of and her tits could barely be a handful each. Her waterlogged hair was dark and thin but chalked that up to the fact that, well, it was saturated.

She placed one hand to her hip and the other to her forehead as she stood sideways and gazed toward the other end of the beach. Her vision steadily moved across like a panoramic shot until her eyes landed on him. She froze but didn't look away straight away. After a brief moment, she lazily turned away and sat herself down on a previously unnoticed towel.

Un-phased by this brief, nonverbal encounter, Happy slowly stood up and jumped back to the dry sand. Taking one last look at the woman who had essentially disregarded him, he began his retreat back to his bike. At the top of the stairs. He shook his head and remembered just why he didn't come all the way down to the sand when he visited.

* A * C *

The second time Happy encountered the tiny surfer was in a small coffee shop in the centre of the small town the beach belonged to. Cadence was nothing to write home about in terms of entertainment but it had something going for it, what that was he didn't really know. It had that same air of small town community that the hometown of the mother charter had. At least Charming had a booming porn business to keep him amused.

He had just paid for a surprisingly reasonably priced take away coffee and cream cheese bagel and was headed towards the door when a redhead pushed it open. She had her head turned back the way she came from as she laughed over her shoulder at something her busty blonde friend had told her. Both wore bikinis and denim shorts, clearly en route to the same lookout he had in mind.

He stopped mid stride and waited to see if she would notice someone was in her way or if she would walk straight in to him. He wasn't surprised when he had to lift his arm to balance his coffee before it spilt as she pressed both hands to his chest to balance her self.

She quickly righted her self and looked up at his face as she pushed her hair back out of her face. Recognition sparked in her dark blue eyes but instead she just shrugged and apologized with a lazy smile.

Happy didn't know how she could possible recognize him, although the cut on his back _was_ distinctive enough. Unless she had just seen him around on his sporadic visit to the town on his few off days. His first priority was always to make time for his Ma in Bakersfield but he also tried to set aside two days to make the trip over to Cadence, northwest of Bakersfield, and then back to Charming.

Still, he knew he didn't look anything like the natives of the town so he was confident her recognition came simply from his status as an outsider.

This opinion was slightly altered as, once again, he found himself leaning against the safety railing of the lookout. He had already made the decision not to tackle the stairs this time. Not that he wasn't physically fit enough for it, rather it was just a pain in the ass and he didn't really benefit from it. Nah, he'd rather stay up the top and eat his bagel.

His attention was once again caught by a slightly high pitched laugh, one that was oddly familiar, and watch from his peripheral as the same red head and blonde from the café walked towards the access steps. Both were holding some kind of brightly coloured juice in one hand and a surfboard tucked under the other arm.

The blonde had a hefty backpack slung over one shoulder. Happy subconsciously applauded the choice; the red head looked hardly strong enough to carry the board tucked against her almost visible ribcage let alone any added weight. Once again her eye caught his and that same flash of recognition clouded hers as that lazy smile pulled at her cheeks. This time Happy's reflected similar emotion although so far he only knew her from their brief encounter not even half an hour prior.

He watched as they bounced down the stairs, sometimes taking them two or three at a time. Yep, he couldn't help but affirm, definitely locals. That and who else would dare to walk around town in a bikini? And better yet, why did he care?

The answer was he didn't. That's what he told himself as he pointedly looked away from the pair as they shook out their colourful towels and settled their stupid healthy juices in the sand.

Despite his earlier decision to remain at the peak of the bluff, he let his instincts guide him toward the tower of stairs. They had already suited up and were running towards the relatively calm swell by the time he reached the sand. Coffee still in hand, he made the discernable journey to his standard boulder and settled comfortably on top.

This time he watched the red head closely, her loose hair still dry and vibrant in the bright sun. He couldn't help but compare this day to the last time he was there. It now resembled the more stereotypical perfect day that it hadn't last time.

Following that thought of comparisons, his mind instantly made the connection between his now saturated redhead and the unaffected surfer he had observed months before. With her hair now darkened and thinned by the ocean, there was no doubt in his mind they were the same person.

So he had been wrong. She had recognized him from a more specific event, not just his outlandish appearance or his leather. He drained the last of his coffee and with one last look at the water, made his way back up the stairs.

* A * C *

Happy was frustrated. When he had been younger, his ideal way of sorting through his anger was to take it out on walls and people who he felt deserved it. That had landed him his first stint in Chino. The California Institute for Men was somewhere he would end up visiting again a few years after his first stay.

But as his violence had grown so had he, and with that came the growth of his level of control. He had learnt to process his frustration before applying the appropriate solution. This time, he decided that sourcing out the different points of his frustration was priority.

He sat down in a wicker chair on the patio of his mothers' small housing commission home. A strong coffee – no cream, half a sugar – sat on the glass topped outdoor table in front of him and he took a small sip as he began to compile a mental list.

First and foremost, his mothers meds had just undergone another price rise and been labeled a prescription medicine. While they had been over the counter, he had been able to stockpile while he was in Charming – or wherever he was stationed, being Nomad gave him the freedom of travel – and take them to her when he could indulge in a stop over in Bakersfield.

Secondly, the bullshit between Jax and Clay was starting to boil over. He didn't need to think about it to know his loyalty lay first and foremost to the club. But Jax was a close second and seeing as how the young VP had the clubs best interests and longevity at heart, he couldn't find it in himself to support his progressively more reckless President.

Already feeling a little better for having categorized the tip of the iceberg, he tried to work his way further through the mental carnage. Reluctantly, he thought about his last trip to Cadence. Leaving while the little redhead was still in the water seemed almost cowardly. He hadn't spoken to her, had no real desire to at the time, but he could have at least stayed until they had left. It felt too much like running away and he didn't appreciate the feeling.

He sighed and swallowed a mouthful of the almost cold, still bitter coffee as acceptance settled heavily on his shoulders. The main source of his frustration was the fucking redhead. How typical. He decided that the first thing he would do when he got back to Charming was to find a petite redhead and fuck her into the headboard. That would get her out of his system.

* A * C *

Once again, Happy stood at Lover's Jump Lookout, a cream cheese bagel in hand and a tiny redhead on his mind. He had strategically worked his way through every damn redheaded croweater Charming had to offer but it had done nothing but feed his slowly growing desire for her.

Not a single sweetbutt he encountered had resembled her in anyway – whether or not that was a good thing he wasn't sure. One thing he _was_ sure of was that his minor obsession was unhealthy.

He found himself growing impatient as he turned away from the ocean and leaned his back against the now familiar railing, one foot one the ground, the other pressed against a wooden rung. Tourists were running rife at the normally quiet lookout and the beach bellow had been swathed with beach towels, blankets and large sun umbrellas.

He had thought about it – extensively – but honestly couldn't imagine what had brought on the mass migration from Southerland Cove to Northern Moon Bay. Giving up as yet another family scurried past him, the mother going so far as to shield her eighteen month olds eyes, he stomped over to his bike and pulled away from the curb without a back ward glance.

He decided on one more coffee before the ride up to Washington and pulled into a parking space at the same little coffee shop he had run into Red – he figured she should at least have some sort of name, even if it was only in his mind. He faltered slightly as he reached the door but pushed on any way. His thoughts had taken a dangerous turn, was he only there to try and run into her again? Would he find himself each visit retracing steps that had led him accidentally to her?

Very dangerous territory.

He lined up at one of the registers and waited for the tourist in front of him to fumble through his wallet for a small enough bill. When it was finally his turn he had just handed over the cash when the very same laugh that had haunted a portion of his waking thoughts sounded from directly next to him.

She was joking around with the blonde boy serving her, clearly friends of some sort. He watched as he refused her money and she smiled lazily back. As she turned to walk over to the designated waiting area, she stopped short as she spotted him.

He was standing with his arms crossed – standard intimidation tactic, she thought – observing her through cold black eyes.

He watched as she resumed walking and came to stand almost directly beside him.

"Sage," she remarked in a voice not at all reminiscent of her deceptively higher pitched laugh. Happy's eyes flickered to her but he remained stoic. She turned to face him front on. "My name," she stated as one eyebrow jerked upwards before dropping just as suddenly.

Happy let his eyes flicker back to her and observed her through his peripheral. Her vibrant red locks were pulled on top of her head in a messy knot, face clear of any makeup, white t-shirt over a pale green bikini, denim shorts and flip flops. She noticed his perusal but remained silent. "Happy." His eyes flickered back to the front.

"Happy," she repeated contemplatively. "Happy to meet me? Or happy to be here? Or are you just happy in general?" she tilted her chin slightly and regarded him through slightly narrowed eyes and that lazy smile still on her face.

Happy frowned at turned to face her full on.

"Ah! So you _are_ one of those generally happy people. I can not tell you how much your kind annoys me," she winked at him before stepping toward the counter to pick up both her fluorescent green juice and his coffee, which had apparently been called at the same time.

She walked straight by him towards the door but stopped halfway when she noticed he wasn't moving. "Well come on, _Happy_, your coffee's going cold," she tossed over her shoulder and then continued out the door.

Who was he not to follow?

**A/N: sorry everybody, I just realised that the breakers I had put in place weren't showing up so I have done a little adjusting which should make it a little easier to read :) Thanks for all your love and support so far! I'm really excited about this one!**


	2. Chapter 2

Happy looked down at the bundle of blankets in his arms and the small tuft of black hair peaking out. His son had been born not even an hour ago and he was already the most precious and important thing in Happy's life. Well, along with the premature baby's mother – she was pretty important also.

There had been minor complications at the last minute and a caesarian section became necessary after the baby in his arms had managed to turn himself the wrong way around and wrap the cord around his delicate little neck. Somehow he had come out of it alive and perfect with no lasting side affects and all that was left was for his wife to be stitched up.

He heard the doors to the private room open and stood up carefully to avoid waking the baby. The bed was wheeled in by two nurses and adjusted into the correct position. He watched as they reconnected her IV and heart monitor. Happy had become such a presence in the hospital that the staff had slowly acclimatized to him and he no longer posed such a threat to them. He smiled genuinely as both Nurse Sarah and Nurse Adam congratulated him and lightly touched the infant's forehead fondly.

Without prompting, Adam moved the armchair to be as close to the head of the bed as possible for which Happy was thankful. He could probably have done it one handed but it would have woken his son who would probably wake his wife and he wanted her to get as much rest as possible. That and he didn't want to have to put his son down either in order to prevent the previously imagined scenario from occurring.

He sat down and settled the child safely against his chest before using his free hand to smooth the hair away from his beautiful wife's face. And what a beauty she was. Sage was everything he didn't know he wanted or needed. After meeting her nearly five years ago he hadn't regretted a single day of his life since.

He knew he was different with her than he was around his brothers. Around the Sons, the most they got out of him was a smirk. Around Sage, he had relearnt to smile. He'd had to. Her happy-go-lucky attitude never seemed to falter and her relaxed surfer lifestyle lent a sense of effortlessness to their relationship that he relished in. It was the perfect escape from club drama and provided all the benefits the open road couldn't. Including a wet, warm place to sink into after days on the road.

"Stop thinking so hard, I can hear you through the epidural," she smiled lazily at him and he smirked back at her. Trust Sage to crack jokes after being cut open like a rag doll and still high on pain meds.

"Nothing you need to worry about, baby girl."

He pulled the side railing of the hospital bed down and carefully lay down next to her, mindful to avoid her tender abdomen. She reached a hand over to place on their baby as she laid her head on his shoulder. "It's never something I need to worry about. I'm starting to think you have a secret life that you don't want me finding out about."

It was a running joke between them, or rather she didn't let him forget, that he had initially tried to hide his affiliations from her and keep her in the dark regarding his _career_. He didn't realize she had paid any attention to his cut the first two times they had encountered each other. Especially since the time they finally spoke he had ventured out sans leather.

"What? Croweater got your tongue?" this time he laughed out loud. That had been their first proper argument. She had found glitter on him one too many times and the resulting enquiry had lead to the introduction of 'what happens on a run stays on a run'. She hadn't liked that at all.

"You know I love you, right?"

She lifted her head and frowned up at him. He was never really one to just spontaneously say it for no reason whatsoever. He was more of the 'use it as a weapon of mass destruction' type. "A croweater doesn't really have your tongue, right? I was kidding about that," she looked at him with suspicion.

"Hey! I gave you my word. You know what that means," he frowned back at her.

"And yet, we're still a secret," she muttered, looking back at her first born.

Happy knew that she didn't really feel that way. Sure, it had irked her in the beginning, back when he thought she didn't know what he did or who his friends were. She had introduced him to her family and friends and couldn't understand why he wouldn't extend her the same courtesy. Of course it had made a lot more sense later on but when she was feeling threatened she always fell back on it.

"You don't mean that."

"Yeah, you're right. But that doesn't mean that we should be so far removed from a whole half of your life either. Its not like the club is just a small side project. It bloody defines who you are," she lowered her voice as the baby began to fuss. "You once explained to me that the Sons were your family. Well, Junior, here, and I are also your family. That should count for something."

Her words stung as if she had physically struck him. At first he was angry, but he knew Sage wasn't the type to say something simply to get a reaction from him. She said what was on her mind, just one of the things that had made her so appealing in the first place.

If she was feeling this now, she had probably been feeling it for a while and he couldn't help but feel guilty that he was the reason. She knew it was for her own protection, and now that they had a baby it was even more imperative. But he couldn't help but consider the fact that maybe it would be better for all of them if his little family become more integrated into the other part of his life.

"And we really need to get onto a name," she groused as she gingerly picked up the infant and rested him against her own chest, her breasts – now larger and more pliable from pregnancy – acting as a pillow for his head. "Junior just doesn't know whether it wants to be redneck or ostentatious. And our pretty little baby is neither."

* A * C *

Happy was sorely reminded of their conversation at the hospital when he returned from visiting his mother that Thursday afternoon. The drive back and forth between Charming, Bakersfield and Cadence had been wearing him thin as of late but it was nothing he couldn't handle.

He and Sage had bought a two-story beach house across the road from the more secluded beach after nearly a year of dating. They had known early on that things were starting to get serious – especially when he gave up free pussy. The house was definitely a fixer upper but they had bonded over ripping down old wallpaper and painting ceilings. Not even a week after they had finished the house, Happy had skipped tradition and, after placing Sage on his lap while he sat on their wide porch swing, presented her with the simple platinum bad with a single, princess cut diamond.

That night they finished christening each room of their home and got to making sure all the floors were Holy.

It was late afternoon and the sun was slowly setting over the water. It was blocked slightly by the trees that filled their front yard, as well as the other side of the road. Much like the lookout he had – and still – frequented, they were surrounded by a generous mix of bush and beach. The orange sky projected an ominous red hue that had Happy more nervous than when he found out his son could choke to death in the womb.

He pulled his Harley into the driveway behind Sage's embarrassingly ridiculous white Prius. Honestly, he knew she had grown up in what was essentially a hippy town but her need to be green never failed to amuse him. But tonight he wasn't amused. Whether it was his killer or fatherly instincts that alerted him, he wasn't sure, but something wasn't right.

First he noticed the headlights still on in the Prius. He swung his leg over his bike and stealthily made his way to the drivers' side. The door wasn't even closed properly, he noted, and quickly reached inside to turn them off. If someone other than his family _was_ in the house then that was their silent warning to _fuck off._

Happy wasted no time checking the back seat and didn't know whether to be relieved or concerned that his son wasn't in his car seat – that meant he was in the house. He quickly walked around the back of the car and drew his gun from the back of his jeans. He pushed forwards and continued up the passenger side of the car, under the carport and towards the back gate, which he noted was also slightly ajar.

He cautiously wedged himself against the side of the house and the gate, using it as a shield, as he scanned the backyard. The yard was extensive; it was one of the things that had attracted both him and Sage when they were house hunting. The large in-ground pool and paved area fenced off to the far left of the yard was perfect for the summer when the beach got too hot or too crowded. It was shrouded in palm trees and Australian gum trees, their own little oasis. So far he couldn't see anything amiss.

His eyes continued to scan across and spotted no obvious sign of anything foreign. He spun so he was now facing the side of the house and gently used his shoulder to push the gate open as he crept forwards. Towards the far right hand side of the yard he spotted Sage's handbag on the ground. He wasn't sure whether to take it as any sort of sign; she had a bad habit of dropping her shit wherever she was standing at the time if something else called her attention.

As a neat freak, it kept Happy on edge at nearly all times he was home.

His boots barely made a sound as he walked up the side steps of the back porch and crouched down to remain hidden under the large bay windows that faced out from the kitchen. He slowly straightened and leaned past the window frame. No lights were switched on – another thing Sage would never do. She left lights on all over the place and only turned them off when going to bed. It was normally Happy who would follow behind her switching off lights that she didn't.

He bent back down, just to make sure he wasn't being watched, and silently passed by the windows undetected until he reached the open back door. Who ever it was clearly didn't believe they had the time to shut a single goddam door and once again, Happy was caught between being glad and pissed off.

He heard a whimper from somewhere deeper into the house. Based on the floor plan, it sounded like it had come from beyond the open planned kitchen and dining area. Either a bedroom or the family room. From the back door, it was possible to see every door way of the house, the main hallway leading from the front door straight back to the open kitchen/dining area. Each room on the first floor separated off from that hallway.

Every door was closed except for his sons' room. He reached the door and leant against the wall directly next to it. Happy hadn't been a religious man for a long time – his ma had tried to keep him faithful but with the hand life had dealt them, he hadn't been able to find it in himself to indulge her. Now it seemed laughable as he prayed to any deity that would spare him the time of day.

He prayed that his baby boy was safe and sound, tucked up in the rustic crib his mommy had insisted his daddy build from driftwood from the beach. He prayed his beautiful wife was sound asleep in the rocking chair next to the big bay window facing the side garden. He prayed that whatever motherfucker had been stupid enough to trespass on his land and terrorize his family was too distracted to notice his worst nightmare sneaking up on him.

He regarded the four painted letters stuck at odd angles on the front of the door. Noah had been the only name they could both agree on. Sage had had a whole list of hippy shit and Happy wasn't exactly a shining example of convention. Noah Solomon Lowman.

For the first time in his life, Happy didn't know what to do. He could feel his calm slipping as he faced the white wash door. He could just kick the door down, he had the element of surprise on his side after all, but would the shock cause some sort of reflex reaction that would ultimately hurt his family? No, he couldn't take that chance.

But what if he tried to sneak in and accidentally alerted the intruder to his presence? As much as he hated it, it was still the lesser of the two evils. He removed one hand from his Desert Eagle and gave the doorknob an experimental twist. It slowly gave way without so much as a squeak for which he was immediately thankful. Maybe there was a God, and maybe, just maybe He was listening.

His blood ran cold as he took in the sight of his wife crouched in the corner, rocking rhythmically in complete silence, Noah clutched to her chest and swathed in a linen sheet. A gun rested just out of her reach as if it had been haphazardly thrown away. She was covered in what he could easily recognize as blood – how much of it was hers, he wasn't sure, especially taking in the two bodies laying on the other side of the room.

Both were white males and from the ink decorating their arms and necks they clearly belonged to a white supremacist group. One body lay prone on his back, his legs sprawled unnaturally and head twisted diagonally upwards – a position it normally wouldn't be able to achieve.

The second was a little easier to comprehend. Blood was still leaking from a wound to his thigh and chest into a slowly congealing puddle on the beige carpet. He shuddered as he regarded the fact the second man was laying in front of his sons' crib.

He lowered his weapon and carefully placed it on the ground. Someone had clearly taken care of the intruders and from the looks of things it had been Sage – and if that was the case, he didn't want to spook her further.

"Sage," he murmured, still crouched and hands splayed in the air in an almost submissive stance. "Sage, baby, pass Noah to me."

He startled slightly when she suddenly stopped rocking with no warning. Her eyes flickered up from the opposite wall and she regarded him with all the suspicion of a scared mama bear. Happy could tell the shock had already kicked in and knew that no matter how well he knew her, she wasn't going to make this easy.

He didn't really blame her.

Sage still hadn't reacted to his words so he got onto his hands and knees and began the painfully slow crawl to her side. Her eyes followed his every move all the way down to each hand and knee as they crept closer. What could only have been a minute later he adjusted himself to lean against the wall next to her.

He slowly extended his arms towards the infant and pretended his heart didn't break a little as she flinched back and held Noah tighter to her chest. He decided to take a different approach and calmly place arm around her shoulders, his hand pressing her head into the crook of his neck, while the other hand rested on the back of Noah's head.

And then she broke.

Sobs wracked her petite frame while tears began to soak through his white t-shirt. He turned his head to rest his forehead against her hair and took a deep breath. His chest shuddered as he exhaled. He could hardly believe just how close a call this had been.

Immediately trailing the relief was anger.

How dare a couple of Aryan fuckers come into _his home_ and threaten _his family_. This shit was meant to stay four hours away in _fucking Charming_. And yet, despite his best efforts to keep his family safe and away from club drama, he had somehow only managed to lead it directly to his doorstep.

As much as he loathed to admit it, maybe it was time Sage and Noah were introduced to the club. It seemed that keeping them secret had done nothing to protect them – if anything it had made things worse. Had he not tried to compartmentalize his life, would they have had the protection and support to avoid that night? Would there have been brothers in the area that could have come to her aid?

He sighed and pressed his lips to the top of her head before placing a gentle kiss on his sons' forehead. Happy knew he had some serious decisions to make but as he gazed at the slowly cooling bodies on the floor of his only child's bedroom, he knew right at that moment wasn't the time.

No, there would be plenty of time for that in the near future.

The _very_ near future.


	3. Chapter 3

They had decided to keep the house in Cadence despite the horror's that had taken place. Although, Sage had firmly insisted they move Noah's bedroom and renovate it into a bathroom. The only way she could tolerate that room was if it represented the opposite of what had taken place.

Happy knew that it had more to do with being clean than anything else. He had seen her the week after the incident, ripping up the carpet that had already been steam cleaned back to its original appearance. She had proceeded to scrub the newly revealed timber floorboards before coming to the conclusion that the only sensible use for the space was an ensuite. They could easily put in a door from the front bedroom.

More like _he_ could easily put in a door.

He rolled his eyes. The bathroom had been completed in three days and now, nearing two weeks since the invasion, she was only just managing to cut down the cleaning to once a day. Happy was just thankful that they would be moving the following week.

He pulled out a duffel from the top of the closet and tossed it on the bed. He had already folded four t-shirts and a spare pair of jeans and began stuffing them into the slightly dusty bag. He rarely used it seeming as his trips generally triangulated between his home with Sage and Noah, his ma's house and the clubhouse in Charming – all of which were places he had a ready supply of clothing.

This time would be different however. Although he would be riding to Charming, Sage would be trailing him with Noah in the Prius. Stupid fucking green heap of Japanese shit. Introducing one half of his family to his rougher, tougher family was already going to be a shit storm and the prospect of presenting his beautiful, sweet, surfing artist of a wife who drove a fucking _Prius_ to the no shit taking Gemma Teller-Morrow?

He stopped his train of though right there and, shaking his head, continued to pack clean boxers and a spare hoodie. His ears twitched as he caught the sound of the front door slamming downstairs. He heard keys drop into the small dish on the side table and the scuff of shoes lazily hitting each step as Sage ascended.

Happy unconsciously sucked in a sharp breath as she entered their room, Noah still tucked on her hip and handbag resting in the crease of her elbow. Today, she had dressed down in a pale yellow sundress and deep brown wedges. Her red hair was loose around her shoulders and she wore no makeup.

"So it turns out that James fucked – oh!" she frowned and looked at Noah from the corner of her eye as if he was about to start swearing like a sailor. Happy couldn't help but smirk, would he really be surprised if his kid's first word was fuck? He laughed; he'd be more surprised if it was something conventional like 'mama' or 'dada'. – "_Messed_ up the schedule," she continued with a playful glare at Hap, "and actually booked D'Angelo in at ten AM instead of eleven AM so when I got there I had to deal with _three fucking clients_ at once! _Shit!_"

She threw her head back in exasperation. Happy chuckled despite her frown becoming real. Sage had recently come to the conclusion that they should make a more concerted effort to check what they said around the four month old. Happy was pretty sure she had been getting shit from some of her snootier friends who lived up on the headland and had more money than sense.

"So, three clients?" he knew if he didn't distract her she would only brood until he ended up the victim of a sexless night. Those were the worst…

"Right! D'Angelo actually hung around until I got there, I had an actual twelve o'clock appointment that apparently wasn't D'Angelo, and then my one o'clock couldn't make her time so she decided to come an hour early without warning one. You'd think art acquirers would actually know how to be punctual, you know?"

"So it went well, then," he teased as he stepped towards her and wrapped one arm around her waist while she transferred Noah to his other arm. His smiling son gurgled up at him, his red gums on display and his little hands clapping together. "Hey there, little man," he rasped as he kissed his light smattering of hair.

"Yep! I sold another two pieces to private collectors and D'Angelo wants to commission an exhibition for next year sometime," Sage beamed up at him. He had never thought of being an artist as a profitable career move – rather something people who had hit a mid life crisis attempted before resigning themselves to carry out the rest of their work life in their shitty nine to fiver – but of course Sage was the exception.

Her works sold for anywhere upwards of a couple of grand, the most expensive having been sold to a private collector for nearly fifteen thousand.

"Are you packed?" he asked as he glanced around their spacious bedroom. He already knew the answer. She was messy enough that packing would result in an aftermath that required a solid half hour to clear up.

"_Yeah_, about that…" she trailed off with a sheepish smile and lightly shrugged her shoulders.

"It's okay, I know you've been busy but we need to hit the road in the next hour if we want to stop off at Ma's on the way." They had decided to take Noah to visit his Gram en route to Charming. That, and if he was too fussy they could stay the night and continue the next morning to their destination. It was just a house hunting trip but Happy also viewed it as a way to introduce his small family and then have a small cool off period before they relocated for good.

He knew there was gonna be some kind of blow back for his dishonesty – whether it was severe enough to affect his standing in the club or if it would just be Gemma kicking up a stink that she hadn't been aware of something so important, he wasn't sure yet.

He released his still chatting wife as she drifted around the room to pull out clothes for the four days they planned to stay in the town that had been his home away from home for a long time, longer than he had even known Sage. She pulled out a dark pair of jeans, a patterned sheer long sleeve, two colourful sundresses and a long navy blue skirt.

He shook his head with a smirk as he retreated to his sons' newest room on the top floor. She was going to stand out like a Son at the Hairy Dog. But, he conceded, that was just another one of the things that attracted him so strongly to her. She was nothing like the croweater's and sweetbutts that frequented the clubhouse and tried to latch on to him.

No. She was something else entirely. She was something special. And now he was turning into a fucking pansy. Thank fuck he wasn't talking out loud. If his brothers overheard him he would never hear the end of it, no matter how much he threatened and glared.

As he packed a small bag for Noah he made sure to steer his thoughts in a more manly direction. Pussy was always a good topic.

Yeah.

As long as it was his wife's pussy.

Jesus, he was a _whipped_ motherfucker.

* A * C *

"_Why?_ Why, why, why, _why?_" Sage winged as she leaned almost entirely against the steering wheel. If she didn't value the life currently strapped into his safety seat behind her more than everything else in her world she probably would have hit her head against the steering wheel. As it were, she did value her son more than her own life and kept her eyes on the road, even if he _was_ screaming bloody murder.

This only seemed to spur him on as his cries became more insistent and his screams scraped her nerves.

"Argh! Fine! Next gas station we'll stop, okay? You can have the tit, even. I don't care! Just please, _chill out_, little man."

For a baby that slept remarkable well at night, he had the travel disposition of a baby mandrake. And she couldn't even tell him that, because his comprehension skills weren't developed enough and he wouldn't understand just how insulting it really was to be compared to a mandrake.

"That's right, I called you a mandrake," she muttered under her breath.

Sage sighed in relief as she saw a gas station up ahead. She made the turn and pulled into one of the free car spaces, clicking off the ignition and unstrapping her seat belt. She made her way to the back passenger side, shut the door behind her and lightly shushed her distressed baby as she unstrapped his restraints.

Once again she mentally thanked Toyota for deciding that the energy efficient car needed windows tinted right up to the legal limit. A reward for going green, maybe? She pulled one arm through the neckline of her white t-shirt and unclipped the front clasp bra – thank god for those. There was no doubt in her mind they were invented by a pregnant lady or a new mother – and settled Noah against her breast.

His screams quieted the minute he felt her flesh against his and he easily latched on. She shifted him to support most of his weight with her left arm as she rifled around her handbag for her phone. She may as well call Happy while she waited for Noah to finish. He probably wouldn't hear his cell if he was still riding but knew he would give her shit for not letting him know they had stopped. Yet again.

They had already spent the previous night at Happy's mothers house. Nora was only too pleased that Noah had travelled so terribly and forced their hand. Sage had felt a little guilty, after all, it was Nora's grandbaby and after living alone for the better part of twenty years, she knew the woman treasured every visit like her last.

They had set off over two hours ago and the three-hour drive to Charming was turning into a full day expedition. They were maybe two thirds of the way and with the now sated baby still resting against her skin, Sage could only hope he would be content enough to sleep the rest of their journey. After a quick burping, she settled him back in his car seat and redid all the restraints, double, triple and quadruple checking they were secure. She sat with her back against the front seat as she admired her beautiful baby, now sleeping soundly – a far cry from the demon he had been earlier – and took a moment to herself.

She had just clasped her bra and was adjusting her t-shirt when a fist wrapping against the tinted glass shocked her from her reverie. She looked up at the man staring through the glass – leather cut, helmet, riding gloves. Definitely a biker. His long hair was blocking any view she had of his patches but from the look of the crowd of them she could see from the rearview mirror, she wasn't sure they were the people Happy had meant when he said he wanted her to meet his other family.

Knowing the windows were too dark for him to effectively see what she was doing, she made the split second decision to flick the lock button, securing both Noah and her self within the safety the vehicle provided, and jumped the center console to the drivers seat. She heard swearing from outside the glass and mentally swore.

Here she was, as a mother and wife of a biker, actively trying to provide a safe, educational and swearing free environment for her four-month old son and some asshole biker thought it was okay to disrespect that? To try and undo all the hard work she was putting in? Living with Happy already made it a challenge, but _seriously_?

"Oh, _come on!_"

She jammed the key in the ignition and, taking no care to check if the stranger had managed to move out her path, pulled the gear stick into reverse and accelerated. She saw him leap aside and, sparing only a brief thought in relief that she didn't _actually_ hit him – that really wasn't something she wanted to explain – sped out of the gas station parking lot, tires spitting gravel and dust in the faces of the small congregation.

* A * C *

Happy had pulled over less than a hundred metres before Charming's welcome sign. He had felt the vibrating of his personal phone in one of his interior pockets – barely distinguishable from the rumble of the Harley beneath him. He knew it could only be Sage or his mother so he wasted no time pulling off into the breakdown bay.

He saw Sage's name and instantly hit redial. He wasn't worried. He had heard all about how his angelic son became _his_ demon spawn when it came to car travel. She probably just wanted to include him in her suffering.

After four rings it hit voice mail. He hung up before the message tone rang out. Chances were she was pulling over and would call him back within the next thirty seconds. He waited patiently, alternating between calculating how long it would take to reach the clubhouse – approximately fifteen minutes – and staring at the home screen of his surprisingly sophisticated smart phone. Sage had insisted that if he was going to use shitty burner phones that he at least have a proper device for home.

At least that was her excuse.

Truthfully, she just didn't want him touching her obscenely – unnecessary, in his opinion – ginormous mac computer. It seemed he had a tendency to cause what she referred to as _The Blue Screen of Death_ to appear resulting in a loss of important work related files and sex. Both agreed it wasn't worth it.

Christmas day a fancy, new, _smart_ phone turned up in a harmless looking blue box with a bright white ribbon. He had thought it looked fucking suspicious from the outset.

Three minutes had passed and she still hadn't returned his call.

That wasn't part of the deal.

He frowned. Sure, she liked to fuck with him sometimes but he had stressed the important of keeping contact during this leg of the trip. There might not have been an immediate threat from any of their _associates_ at that point in time but he wasn't taking chances. It would be typical that some white power or underdog gang would target a motorist and with the luck he had in Charming, of course it would be his wife.

He stopped his thoughts before they spiraled – the scenarios he was imagining might be typical but for the most part highly unlikely.

He hit redial again and brought the smart – stupid – device to his ear. He tucked the other arm across his chest and looked skywards. Nothing could ever be fucking _easy_, could it? Out of habit, he kept a vigilant ear in the opposite direction of Charming as he listened to the dial tone. The sound of her voicemail was slowly interrupted by the sound of motorcycles in the distance. As far as he had been aware, no one from Charming was out of town and they weren't expecting any visitors.

He quickly tucked the phone back inside his cut and started his bike, both eyes trained in the side mirror. If he couldn't get in contact with Sage he would just have to go find her himself. As soon as these visitors passed. He wasn't about to risk his own safety before he got the chance to check on his family in person.

It took 1.5 seconds for absolute cold to touch the tip of Happy's skull and reach the very ends of his extremities. He swore and slammed his hands on the handle bares with a growl as he watched his wife's Prius speed past him at least twenty miles over the speed limit with a pack of Nomads racing after it.

What the fuck was Quinn doing in Charming?

Just as Happy made to join the pursuit, he jerked the bike to a stop as his family phone rang.

"What the _fuck_ do you think you're doing? Are you trying to get yourself killed? Noah?!" he roared into the speaker. He could hear Noah wailing in the background, fuelling his anger further.

"So, I got car jacked…"

**A/N: so what do you think so far?**

**Like where it is going? Don't like where it is going? Truthfully I have no idea where it is going…**

**Thank you so much for your reviews and the amount of people who have favourited/followed this story! I woke up to 32 emails the other morning haha **

**Please feel free to leave your constructive criticisms – anything I can do to make this better is much appreciated! If you have any suggestions as to what direction this should go, let me know **

**Until next time!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I know some of you have had some questions and there has been a little confusion but hopefully this chapter clears some things up? If there are still any problems, please review or PM me your concerns and I will revise it until it makes more sense **

Happy sighed deeply. "Where are you?"

"On the side of the road."

"Where abouts?"

"The highway."

"_Sage_," he growled, now getting frustrated at her lack of urgency.

"_Happy_."

He pulled the phone away from his ear, closed his eyes and breathed as deep as his tar-coated lungs would allow. He brought the device back up to his ear and overheard the end of the conversation.

"_Who drives a Prius anyway? Ugly pieces of unpatriotic shit!"_

"You mean stylish and sustainable while combining cutting edge features and uncompromised performance?"

"_What, did you memorize the pamphlet? Are you proud of yourself?"_

"It was a _very_ convincing sales pitch," she defended indignantly, ignoring the sound of her husbands' laughter on the other end of the speaker. He knew how convinced she had been. He, on the other hand, had seen through all that slimy salesman's tactics.

Happy paused. He would recognize that cheeky fucker if he was dressed in drag and face down in pussy. "Bully is with you?"

"Unfortunately," she bitched.

"Unfortunately, my ass," he growled back, humour still lacing his graveled voice. "Just sit tight until I get there."

"So we can drive off into the sunset with the baby carrier strapped to your bitch seat?"

"Ride."

"When we buy a house and we're all settled and everything, we _really_ need to sit down and work on your prioritizing skills. Not to mention the fact you're willingly leaving your vulnerable wife and child with a man beast who goes by the name _Bully_… at least we still have Deputy Dick Fuck to save us – _dammit!_"

The woman had been car jacked and her main concern was still swearing in front of the baby. And yet he needed to sort out his priorities? Hold up-

"Deputy Dick Fuck?"

"Yep," she popped her lips with peculiar enthusiasm.

"Just tell me later," he mumbled with barely hidden resignation. "I'm on my way." He hung up and tucked his phone back into the inner breast pocket of his cut.

Carjacked. His fucking wife _carjacked_ before they even hit Charming. Why did he expect anything less? He couldn't just tell her to dress down a little, bring her round to the clubhouse during lunchtime, introduce her and retreat the way they came?

No, of course not. That would be too mundane for the Lowman's.

* A * C *

Bully still couldn't believe it. He knew he had no choice, after all the first piece of evidence was currently being cradled in the arms of the second as it mouthed off at a timid deputy who looked fresh out of the academy. He had fleetingly thought maybe he hadn't quite recovered from last night's bender but sure enough, Happy Lowman – the _Tacoma Killer_ – was _married_ to a hot piece off ass.

And had a baby.

A _freaking infant child._

He wasn't sure which pill was more bitter to swallow.

But it was chased down quite nicely by the slack jawed look on the petite woman's face when he explained who had been rapping on her blacked out windows back at the gas station. He knew Nomads tended to look like scary bastards but the way she had shot out of that lot was almost comical.

Right after the little hellion had spat dust in the Nomad's faces they had come across some limp dick wannabe thug who was preaching the law like it was the big mans words from His own mouth. If Stanley – the newest nomad who had been stationed temporarily in Charming the last couple of weeks – hadn't recognized the cop for who he was they would have left him face down outside the porter loo he was clinging to.

Development sites may have been cliché but they were cliché for a reason. Anything really could happen and be forgotten there. Forever. He tucked that little nuance of information away in the chained box with his nickname soldered to the lid.

Bully had grown up in the wealthier suburbs of Modesto to a lawyer mother and engineer father, both of whom had high hopes for their only son after his two older sisters paved their way through the medical field. Most assumed his lack of contact with his family was because of disownment and disappointment. After all, his career path didn't exactly look ideal on a resume.

Truthfully, at child number three, his folks had already passed most of their high hopes and wishes off with his sisters and were content to be happy if he was happy. He had no contact with them as a safety precaution on principle.

He just told his brothers he was disowned. He planned on retaining at least _some_ of his dignity. Keeping his balls was a very pretty incentive.

"Cool it, El Capitan," Sage held up a hand towards the flustered rookie and continued to sooth the restless child. He watched as Deputy Carswell's eyes flickered back and forth between the beautiful redhead and his own hulking shadow, hand poised at his hip from mere habit.

Bully wasn't sure why he was looking at _him_ like that. Honestly, how threatening could he look with a pastel blue nappy bag slung over one shoulder, a handbag over the other and a baby carrier in his hands?

It had been amusing to watch the Killer's wife tear into Carswell with all the fury of a mama bear. He had watched the officers' balls shrivel up inside his body as she verbally – and probably minutes away from literally - tore him to shreds.

"It's hot, its windy, my hair is a _fucking_ mess and you expect me to just _accept_ that some meth-head with the needle practically still in his goddam arm jumped you? And how long did you say you had been doing this job?" she raised an eyebrow and twisted her body so her back faced the sun, providing what little shade she could for her child. She had already stripped the kid down to a cloth nappy and cotton t-shirt but the dirt studded breeze was just as uncomfortable.

"He tricked you, too," Carswell mumbled guiltily as he folded his arms in on himself.

Bully winced sympathetically. "Wrong move, dickhead." As the young woman's head whipped around, both grown men took a step back. Sure, she was a slight little thing but she was married to _Happy Lowman_ for fucks sake. There had to be something he wasn't seeing.

"You know what? You're right." The calm before the storm, for sure. "But what you forget is that as a functioning member of our society, if I see someone in a police uniform, I'm gonna make the apparently _incorrect_ assumption that they are in fact a police officer. That's just how this game works, the uniform is meant to be a symbol right? Sorta like Batman?"

The deputy seemed to stand a little taller and puff out his chest as she brought up the superhero.

"No, no. _You_ are not Batman. _You_ cocked up," she shrugged matter of factly. "Weren't you trained for that sort of thing? I mean, you were beaten and stripped by a crack head who couldn't have weighed more than 110 pounds!"

The moment she started to advance on the still frightened Carswell, Bully decided to step in. As much as he would love to see the arrogant little fuck have his ass handed to him, he also knew that Happy was probably only minutes off and didn't like the prospect of having to explain just _why_ he allowed the killer's wife to beat up the local law enforcement.

"Speak of the devil," he muttered under his breath as he placed a tan, muscular arm in the warpath of the red head. He had always liked redheads. Great lays, sassy in the sack. He watched the Tacoma Killer casually perform an illegal U-turn that had the golden man in the group stuttering and grasping for his missing weapon.

"Mr. Lowman, fancy seeing you here," Officer Carswell shakily drawled, a hint of a southern accent drawing out his syllables with stress and fear.

"Yeah, fancy that."

Sage watched on curiously. This was Happy in his element and he played the part of outlaw biker to a fault. She didn't know whether to be turned on or pissed off at the revelation that she really wasn't acquainted with a rather large part of her husband's personality.

At the same time, Bully was watching his brother closely. Many a time, one of those unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of some of his darker hobbies had described him as Lucifer incarnate. And yet, he was now watching as the very same man stalked past the meager attempts of the deputy and carefully tucked as arms around Sages until the infant was passed to his arms. With a tenderness he could never have predicted, Bully watched him pull the crying Noah to his chest and press a kiss to his fuzzy head.

Happy ignored the looks from his brother and the stupid ass cop as he took inventory of his son and wife. He had felt the sheen of sweat lining Noah's forehead and could see the exhaustion in Sage's eyes. It was a hot day, hotter than usual and he needed to get them both out of the sun before they got sick.

"Deputy Carswell," he growled with a smirk, "have you met my wife, Sage?"

The look of shock when Happy had handled the infant so delicately was nothing compared to the utter horror now clouding the deputy's eyes. "W-" he swallowed and tried again, "w-wife?"

Sage just smiled genially as she placed a small hand against her son's dark hair and a kiss to her husbands chin.

"And this is _our_ son, Noah," he finished with a smug grin.

"His _wife?_" he turned to look at Bully who could only nod his sympathy. Yeah, _she_ was with _that_ son of a bitch.

She knew they seemed like complete opposites but she couldn't help but feel mildly surprised. She had always known that Happy was a scary motherfucker; always known that whatever his role was within his club it was something sinister. She wasn't so naïve as to not notice or understand the slow accumulation of smiley face tattoos covering his rib cage. She had come to accept that years ago but she was starting to wonder whether or not it was something to revisit as she took in this one, lone citizens reaction to the news that she was indeed _married_ to and had a _child_ with this man.

"Call Hale," Happy jolted her from her reverie. "Have him pick you both up. I'll call Quinn," he directed the last part to Sage. When she stared back at him blankly he sighed and passed their now quiet son back to her. She hoisted him against her shoulder and let his little head snuggle against her neck. Happy smiled brightly and leaned towards her; he couldn't help it. His secret-not-secret little family was his everything. "Later," he mumbled into her ear and smirked as goose bumps erupted over her uncovered arms.

Happy turned to Bully who was looking on with an uncertain smirk. "Follow Hale to the cop shop and make sure nothing else happens to them," he ordered. Bully wiped the smirk from his face and nodded his head solemnly. Happy knew Bully would guard them with his life, which brought a small sense of reassurance back.

He looked back to Sage as she placed an unadorned hand on his bicep. She smiled at him and tilted her chin slightly upwards. He knew exactly what she wanted and, despite not wanting to show any weakness in front of the native boy scouts – he had a reputation to uphold, after all – pressed his lips to hers in a firm kiss. He gently pecked her top lip one more time before stalking back to his bike with one last passing nod to Bully.

Deputy Carswell watched with unabashed relief as the outlaw disappeared down the road. He gazed back and forth between the beautiful waif of a woman with the fussy baby and the remaining biker with a glazed look in his eyes. "_Wife…_"

"Shouldn't you be making a phone call?"

His eyes came back into focus and all he could do was shake his head as he took the sleek black cell phone from the proffered tattooed hand.

* A * C *

"Mrs. Lowman."

Sage waited patiently for the square jawed, all American Boy Scout Hale to continue but when he made no move to go on, she shifted her attention to Noah. He had been peaceful since his encounter with his father – nothing short of an angel.

The big nomad biker, Bully, was sitting outside with his bike waiting for her to finish up her incident report but she was tempted to bring him in purely to try and scare the officer into speeding the process up a little. Yes, she was desperate and therefore in no way above petty scare tactics.

What had started off as her recounting the events of the afternoon and reviewing the typed copy in order to sign her statement had turned into some form of informal interrogation. She knew it was legal – she wasn't being held against her will, was able to leave the stifling little office at whatever point she chose – but that didn't mean she was happy about it.

If she left straight away he would think she was intimidated by him and try to use her as a weak link in what was obviously a very strong club chain. If she waited and left the minute she got uncomfortable, same deal. She would only incriminate herself for things she had no knowledge of or make herself a target.

No, she was going to have to wait this out.

"Sage, if he is hurting you… even threatening you… we can offer you help, a place to stay even. Think of Noah."

Her eyes flashed. "Please don't tell me you have kept me waiting for nearly twenty minutes purely to ask if I am currently being held hostage by my husband. I am my own person, Deputy Chief. Do not make the mistake of thinking that I am helpless."

He held up his hands and pushed back in his chair, trying to present a safe space and surrendering air. "I assume no such thing. But I do know a thing or two about the Sons and not a single family has made it unscathed. Just be careful, Sage."

"And I would advise you to refer to me as Mrs. Lowman. You may presume to know the Sons but you do not know me and I would appreciate if you stopped trying to establish some sort of familiarity with me. I have no plans to throw myself into your arms and start confessing to abuse that does not exist. If that is all."

Hale watched as the beautiful strawberry blonde woman stood up from the slightly ratty seat in front of his aged desk. She picked up the carrier and placed it on the seat she had just vacated, strapped her child in and left the office.

He quickly pulled over his pocket note pad and bounced the back end of the pen against his desk to push out the ballpoint. He jotted down as many notes as he could while their encounter was still fresh in his memory, noting anything that could be either vulnerability or a straight out information blockade.

Clearly she didn't like talking about anything related to her husband. If the so called Tacoma Killer's – and they thought he didn't know about these things – wife was ignorant to her husbands pastimes and was as innocent as she tried to profess, then she would have been a lot more forthcoming. Her immediately defensive nature? Either she was being abused into keeping quiet or she knew important Intel that he would kill to get his hands on.

He quietly tucked his personal notebook into the breast pocket of his windbreaker resting on the back of his chair and forced his mind to revise the details she had provided of her carjacking. As much as he would have liked to blame it on the burly Nomad Son who had pulled up behind them at the station, the list of current cases involving car hijacking was too apparent to pin it on someone based on a personal hatred. He knew better than that.

He didn't like the Sons for their outlaw lifestyle, but he would never wrongly convict one of them. Not anymore. He had let his hatred blindside him in the past and he would live his every day in regret for the outcome of that impetuousness.

In any case, he would do a little checking into Sage Lowman's background. There was no way a less than timid artist from some nothing hippy town in north Jesus nowhere would willing tie herself to the outlaw. Either her past was shady or their encounters with each other had been before they had decided to breed.

A little voice at the back of his mind, the voice that tried to push his animosity aside and look at their lifestyle as just an alternative to mainstream society, spoke to his more appealing nature. Maybe this little addition would be good for the club? Maybe seeing the most ruthless of the bunch with a wife and child would encourage other members to settle down and avoid the violence.

Maybe the violence would die out eventually if all the men were too scared of what could happen to their families? He let this flitter of hope root itself into the base of his thoughts. He would use this as motivation. Maybe even try his hand at working _with_ the Sons instead of _against_ them –like the toy runs and Taste of Charming.

Maybe he could help turn this town around after all.

**A/N: big thank you's all around! 70 follows? 28 favourites? Thank you also to everyone who has reviewed, it means so much! **** With Christmas around the corner I will be working flat out but I will try to have the next chapter out by Monday but I plan on settling into some sort of routine and so look out for WEDNESDAY's as that will be the regular chapter day – hopefully!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: just a quick thank you to HGRHfan35 who has reviewed every chapter. I literally squeal when I get your reviews haha YOU make me smile **** And also to rozale, I'm so happy you like it!**

Chapter 5

Quinn stared down at the limp body tied to an old wooden chair in one of the older patch's cabin. Piney had been _generous_ enough to offer up the space for their little exercise but from the size of the gaps between the floor boards from shrinking due moisture exposure and the impeccable cleanliness, well, clearly it wasn't from the goodness of his weakened heart.

He could feel the pent up energy rolling off of Sunny and Donut as they restrained themselves – the barely concealed excitement seemingly undulating around them shuffled his focus back to the boy in front of him. The kid was no more than nineteen years old _at most_ and was already showing the physical signs of a lifetime drug habit. Whether it was crank, crack cocaine or the newly circulating meth coming in from the goddam spics, he didn't know and really didn't care. Why Clay had decided doing business with them was in their best interests, Quinn truly had no answer.

In the corner of the nearly bare room rested a single fold out table, on top of which Donut had laid out a few tools of his trade. Happy had taken the kid on years before as a sort of apprentice and with the latest revelation that the Killer wasn't flying solo these days – and apparently hadn't been for a while now – he suspected he would be losing a good man to the security and stability a table could offer. He was just relieved he would still have a _particularly_ trained brother with them on the road.

He twisted his neck and jerked his head back in the direction of the kid. Quinn watched patiently as Sunny stepped forwards and made his way behind the accused. He roughly grabbed a track-covered arm in either hand and pulled until a groggy, pain-filled groan clawed out of the boy's throat and his chest arched forwards awkwardly.

"Stop… Stop! Argh…" his speech was slurred and his eyes were unfocussed, rolling around in his skull like pinballs. It was as if something in his mind suddenly broke. One minute he was pathetically weak and pleading and the next… his wild thrashing caught Sunny off guard. His addiction fueled strength surprising everyone but Quinn. "_Please!_"

Quinn grimaced. Definitely methamphetamine. Only meth heads could fight that hard and that desperately while high as a fucking kite. Even mid-fix, the kid was frantically searching for his next hit.

"Name."

He knew from experience, the easiest way to go about it was to keep things straight to the point. If they danced too much they would never get even a lick of information, rather the ice pumping through his veins would spout enough desperate sounding bullshit that Quinn refused to play victim to.

He gave a nod to Sunny. "Name!" He demanded as the boy squirmed and moaned.

"Stan! Its Stan, okay? Please…" he choked on sobs that began to rack his frail torso. "I just needed… needed, just needed…"

His next fix. It didn't need to be said – the high was finally beginning to drain from _Stan's_ eyes and the first true emotion they had seen from the kid began to emerge. Fear. Quinn didn't bother hiding his smirk. Fear was something he was very… _familiar_ working with.

"Last name."

"Croy-" he swallowed listlessly. "Croydon"

"Dealer."

It was as if the moment the word left his lips the kid slipped completely out of reality. He began muttering, not a single word recognizable to any of the Sons present, and his eyes flickered rapidly from side to side. Quinn had seen withdrawals similar to this but never in the first few minutes of coming off the high. This was something else entirely.

Before Quinn could issue the order, Donut strode forwards and took an arm from Sunny, both having seen the desperate fight or flight instinct kicking in and this kid was fighting to fly. His agitation steadily increased until he was thrashing in the old chair, both Sons restraining him showing signs of stress while the muttering became louder and more frantic.

Quinn had enough. He stood directly in front of the junkie and delivered a solid blow to his protruding stomach. Even with the wind completely knocked out of him, Stan kept up the fight. A wayward leg struck out from its bindings and Quinn narrowly dodged it, instead slamming both hands down on his knees to keep the kid in the damn seat.

"Coming… they're coming, it'll happen…. I'm telling you now, they said it wouldn't but it will… it's coming for them… preacher said so, the preacher… his fault and… fault and its… p-preacher…"

Quinn tried to pin the kid's eyes with his own but the flickering was becoming too erratic. Slowly the fight Stan was putting up changed. The drug fueled fear that had been trying to pull him from chair was now an unnatural jerk, the kids back slamming into the back of the chair before arching out and coming straight back down. His eyes, which had been rolling around, were now completely tucked back in his eye sockets.

All three Sons watched as the kid started to vibrate and suddenly he was foaming at the mouth. Quinn couldn't help but feel mildly regretful as he observed Stan slowly drown in his own saliva and vomit.

It wasn't so much that the teen was about to die that disturbed him, no, he had a lengthy list of _accomplishments_ under his belt and only two of those had managed to truly stick with him over the years. But in those cases he had been the one to execute the punishment. Even if torture had initially been involved, Quinn liked to keep the end mercifully quick. No use dragging out the inevitable when all useful information had been siphoned.

But as he watched the life slowly drain from Stan's drug and terror filled brown eyes, he felt like a monster. Had he planned on killing him once they were finished? Of course. But it would have been fast and lot more painless. After all, anyone who dared threaten an old lady and their baby, especially the Tacoma Killer's old lady and baby, deserved to be punished.

Quinn stood up and sighed. "Clean this up, maybe pay that creep up at the cemetery a visit. Get it done by nightfall."

With that, Quinn took one last look at the limp body in the old wooden chair, feeling as if they had come full circle. Stan looked exactly as he had when Quinn had entered the room and he felt an odd sense of peace knowing that he was leaving the same way.

Christ, he was becoming a sentimental fucker in his old age. He ran a calloused hand over his tired eyes as he pushed the cabin door open and headed to his road-weathered Harley. He had some information to pass on.

* A * C *

Sage couldn't remember a time she had been more thankful for her husband than the moment he pulled up to the police station in a generic white sedan and told her they were headed to the only motel Charming had to offer. She had to admit, Bully was a special kind of awesome but also one of the nicest people she had ever met and despite their rocky start, she knew he would be one of the Sons she would come to rely on the most.

Her conversation with Deputy Dick Fuck's superior was still playing in her mind. For all her bravado – which wasn't all that much – she was actually more nervous _now_ to meet Hap's family than she had been before her stop over at the station.

She was no stranger to the concept of Chinese whispers and new that whatever information had been slowly fed to her over the course of the hour she had been stuck there was definitely grossly exaggerated but even the wildest of rumours were based off of even a small truth.

How badly were women really treated in this club of Hap's for that conversation to be the end product?

"So… Tacoma Killer, eh?"

Happy glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "Bully has a big mouth."

"Bigger than yours it seems." She left out the fact it had been Deputy Chief Hale to supply her with that little tidbit of ammunition.

This time he turned his head to look at her with a scowl.

Sage just raised a perfectly shaded eyebrow. "Eyes on the road, your offspring is in the back seat, remember?"

The scowl deepened but he did as she said and focused on the meager traffic in front of the clubs sedan. He got them almost to the end of Main Street before he was overcome with a brief bout of road rage at the slower paced small town folk.

He finally pulled the older model Nissan into one of the empty parking bays near the reception to Charming Towers – the all one story, sole motel in the tiny township.

"How did you manage to keep a straight face this entire time knowing we were going to _Charming Towers_?" she laughed out loud at the sour expression on her husbands face. She felt a warm glow somewhere in her chest cavity when he grinned back at her. He was a stoic bastard but it only served to help her cherish his modest emotional range all the more.

Happy wouldn't admit it to her but it had freaked him when she called him by his old moniker. He knew what he was, knew that she was aware of his role in the club and always had been. It wasn't a secret but it was also never actively discussed either. Hearing the word Killer leave her lips while talking about him? He had felt an uncomfortable tightness in his chest that he planned on removing as quickly as possible. Just because she was meeting his brothers and his other family would not mean their dynamic had to change. He wouldn't let it.

He snatched the newly upgraded key card from the flirty blonde receptionist who he was almost certain he had let suck him off one night at the clubhouse – well before he met Sage – and escaped to the relative safety of the outdoors. He found it worrying that the receptionist croweater knew which room he would be sleeping in, even more so that his wife and son would be in that room. Especially considering he was about to drop and run.

Church had been called for four o'clock. He had tried to get out of it until Clay had informed him it was to do with his wife's carjacking. At first he was relieved, he had been briefly informed that they had caught up to the fucker but almost as suddenly he realized that it meant the mother charter was now abreast of the revelation he had been trying to save for the following day. As in after some food, sex and sleep.

Seemed that wouldn't be happening.

He jammed the card in the slot and twisted the door handle, frowning at the stale air already seeping through the gaps. Normally he would be grateful to even have a bed to sleep in but, as everything seemed to be, things were different with his family involved.

He adjusted the duffle on his shoulder and hoisted Sage's bag off the ground and walked up to the neatly made bed. He dumped them onto the typically floral bedspread and headed back to the Nissan to collect the diaper bag and Noah's own little travel backpack as Sage lifted the child himself from the car, carrier and all.

The first thing she did after she set the carrier down on the twin bed was to lift the baby from his restraints and settle them into the similarly floral arm chair strategically positioned to face both the television and the door way. She tucked up her knees and laid Noah against the tops of her thighs, tickling the smiling infant as he giggled in delight.

This is what he lived for. This, this moment in time where all he saw was a small glimpse of the remaining purity in the world. He had to ignore his initial reaction to beat back any sort of emotion his blackened heart sustained. Over time he had learnt to accept his feelings, that it was okay to love.

It was entirely different than his love for the club. If anything, his love for Sage and Noah made him stronger. Now it was his own family he was protecting, not just fulfilling his craving for order and loyalty.

Then she took off her shirt.

Her bra was next to hit the floor and his son giggled the entire time. There went his moment of purity. He could swear Noah was laughing at him as his lips latched to her nipple – jealous of his own son, getting more action than his old man.

"Don't worry, there's plenty to go around," his eyes drifted back up to her face where he saw her eyebrows raised and a half smile on her lips. She lightly winced as she frowned down at the hungry baby. "Lowman's are such greedy men, aren't they, my little man?"

She smiled fondly as she lifted Noah from her chest and cradled him against one shoulder, gently by firmly patting his back. Now he could see one of her tits perfectly. He swallowed deeply as he watched it bounce with the motion.

He swallowed again. Just as he began to stalk towards her when-

"Well? Are you going to get that?"

He cocked his head slightly and the ringing of his mobile finally penetrated his thoughts. He growled quietly as he yanked from the inner pocket of his cut. "_What?_"

"Oh… Uh, this isn't Kathy, is it? Oh dear, wrong numb-" Happy disconnected without a word. He sighed.

"I need to get to church. Quinn caught up with the fucker that bumped you."

"Go, do what you need to do," she smiled warmly. "Noah and I will just catch up on a little Bold and the Beautiful, methinks."

He was out the door in under fifteen seconds.

* A * C *

"We're gonna skip the obvious fucking elephant and get straight to the point," Clay started as he clenched a cigar between his teeth and waved a hand towards the table. "Quinn."

The big Nomad stood towards the back of the room, leaning against the wall with his arms folded across his broad chest. As President of the Nomads, he commanded a certain level of respect. It was nice to see that it wasn't overlooked despite being in the presence of the mother charter.

He would deny it if anyone asked, but he always felt on edge around his Charming brothers. Shit always seemed to be flying sideways – every direction really – whether it was blacks, Aryans or spics.

He had spent the afternoon sitting at a picnic table in the lot with a cold bear and pack of fags. The kid – Stan – his words had managed to stick with him. Whether it was the manner of his death or the words themselves he wasn't too sure.

All he knew was something was off. And he wouldn't be surprised if it had something to do with a pie Clay had unceremoniously stuck the Club's finger in.

With his face still perfectly blank, he leaned forwards and tossed a scuffed black leather wallet onto the redwood.

"Stanley Croydon. Nineteen years old and a nasty addiction to meth. Seized before we could get the name of his dealer. Started babbling about a preacher. Said it's his fault and that they were coming. Who they are? Not a fucking clue."

There. Quick and to the point. Until he had something a little more solid to go on, something more _reliable_ than his gut instinct – he wouldn't put his brothers in danger without some heavy proof – he would keep his suspicions to himself.

"Juice," Clay looked toward the hyper active intelligence officer and nodded his head towards the abandoned wallet, "I want to know everything; school, suburb, where he shits, what he had for supper last Tuesday. Also, if he's religious. Only preacher in Charming I know is old Father Terrance and last I heard he was swapping gardening tips with my wife, not playing godfather to little meth pukes."

Juice just nodded enthusiastically and reached for the worn leather. He flipped it back and forth in his hands. "On it, boss."

Clay rolled his eyes at the kid. Too goddam peppy in his opinion. When did outlaws become perky?

"Jax, Ope, I want you two to swing by Arthur Street and see how old Father Terrance is these days. Little courtesy call from his friendly neighbourhood bike _enthusiasts_ would do him good," chuckles bounced the room at the thought of the good Father. It was no secret he was two steps from banishing the outlaws from his church but was still always willing to try and save their souls.

"Tig and Chibs with me. I think it's about time we pay a little visit to our Mayan friends. Looks like their little venture is encroaching on our turf again. Don't want this shit happening to anyone else, do we."

Church was finally winding to a close. They had touched on their current legitimate enterprises – namely Cara Cara and the prostitution rap half the actresses had been slammed with – before they reached the topic every brother had been waiting for.

"So Hap," Jax was smirking before he had even finished, "anything you want to tell us? Anything new happening?"

Happy was about to tell the smug asshole to fuck off but figured that how smoothly Sage was welcomed probably depended a lot on how he introduced her to the club – particularly Jax considering he had a son of his own. He ran a hand over the top of his head and down his face as he chose his words.

"Ma's not doing so good. Decided to move closer to her."

"And that Japanese leaf eater? That hers or did ya grow a pussy on the trip down?"

"Nah man, it's my wife's."

Clay sat back and smirked. He liked Happy. Could take orders, was loyal to a fucking fault, didn't take shit from anyone. He knew he was lucky that Happy was willing to follow the orders he was given, Clay knew beyond a doubt that no-one could make Happy Lowman do _anything_ he didn't want to.

"Made me buy the stupid thing when she got pregnant. Fucking safer environment for the kid or some shit."

Except maybe that wife of his.

Whether or not this would disrupt the already precarious balance of control Clay assumed over the killer's actions or not, he didn't know. He couldn't afford for his greatest asset to grow a conscience.

Happy took in the curious looks on his brothers' faces.

"Like old gossiping women, I fucking swear," he shook his head. "Five years. My sons name is Noah, he's four months old." He folded his arms and glared around the room, daring anyone to say anything about it.

"So… is she hot?"

Fucking Juice was gonna get shot.

**A/N: Sorry it's a little later than expected. Christmas hours at work have me all over the place at the moment! I know things are a little slow, only just starting to pick up really, but I need to get the set up all ready for later chapters. It's all relevant and important, trust me!**

**Thank you so much for all the reviews and favourites and story alerts, it makes me so proud to see that people are taking such an interest **

**On a last note, I have not written ahead so every chapter I post has been finished no later than twelve hours after it has been completed. Please leave your reviews as I need some feedback desperately! Plot suggestions and character traits are welcome input!**


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